Archive for the ‘funny short stories’ Category:
New Age Ice Treats
New Age Ice Treats
Thought up: 4.22.02 – 7:23pm
Written: 4.24.02 – 3:17pm
#4
These days, everyone is really into “New Age” diets. All these health nuts are not eating anything that is remotely tasty, but instead they are eating fancy expensive health foods. So why not prey on these poor souls that don’t enjoy a hearty ½-pound of cow with 4 strips of dead pig. Now that’s what I was raised on, and to this day, I still rate at the top of my list. Now I don’t care if they like to eat what they like to eat. I have no problem with that, but I just figure, why not take it a step further?
Why not give them something to really rant and rave about? Modern diets are heavily laden with fruits and vegetables, and I personally don’t care for veggies, and I am sure many people agree. So why don’t we find a way to cash in on it? I think it would be a splendid idea to take all the veggies that you don’t eat, and put them in a big box. Every time you can’t eat a vegetable, save them for however long you want, until the box is full I guess, and I’ll start up a website like Ihateveggiesandwanttodonatethemtoagoodcauseandsoshouldyousoputtheminaboxandsendthemtoandy.com and you can all send me your veggies because I just got this new food blender. I’d take them suckers and whip them up into a creamy batch of yuck. I’d then get some old corndog sticks, (don’t tell the vegetarians, the corndog sticks might still have hotdog on them) and put some sugar in the puree so that they stick to the sticks, and freeze the delightful treats. It doesn’t even matter if you refrigerate your box of bad tasting stuff. Mold is a spore, not a veggie, but I don’t suppose hippies would notice.
could make a killing on these treats! People love that crap nowadays. Well, some people I guess. I can just see the commercial for it…
Unshaven hippy-type man: Ah yes, after a nice day of work at the nudist colony, I always like to take a leisurely jog in the park with my dog. Then I come home to a nice, cold, tasty, BlendoGrode*. BlendoGrode is a delicious mix of random vegetables and possible mold on a used corndog stick. Yum…
*BlendoGrode has not been approved by the FDA. We gave it to some lab rats and their wieners fell off, so you’re on your own. If symptoms persist for longer than 3 years, consult a doctor but don’t mention BlendoGrode. Thank you.
Reminiscing Scents
Reminiscing Scents
Thought up: 5.4.02 – 10:15am
Written: 5.10.02 – 3:15am
#7
When I was 17, I had my first girlfriend. We spent most days together, just even sitting around and watching T.V. sometimes. Not really having an idea of where we were going, or what we were going to do. I met her in the summer of ’96 and I knew that she was going to leave in August because her mother was marrying a nice guy from Caldwell, Idaho. The thing I remembered the most about her was the smell of her hair, I can’t describe it, but I would remember if I smelled it again. Anyway, every time I’d pass someone that used that scent, I’d say, “Hey, I remember that smell.”
Well, when I graduated high school, I made a few visits to her house during the year because it wasn’t that far from Walla Walla, WA, to Caldwell, ID. It was only 200 miles, and I had myself an ‘86 Dodge Aries. It wasn’t a gem to look at, but it got me from point A to point B each time I asked it to. It was reliable, until my sister drove it into a tree a few years later (totally beside the point, but I still think I got stuck when she got a new car out of it, and I was left with nothing). But while it was in its prime, I made that trip a good handful of times.
About 15 miles out of Caldwell, Idaho, it really starts to smell like horse and cow feces. I’d usually get there around 6 pm, right when it was starting to get ripe. At first I didn’t mind it. It would permeate around her house, and in her house, through the air conditioner and in the outhouse (ok, there was no outhouse, but I bet if she did have one it would smell). I got used to it.
So every trip I’d know that I was close when I could smell that sweet aroma. I got to thinking one day, I don’t really remember her for the shampoo. I remember her for the smell of cow poop. Maybe that poop was trying to tell me something – warning me of what was to come. If only I’d have listened to that poop. But I didn’t. Maybe it’s that “love is blind”, but I think mostly I didn’t listen to it because hey, everyone knows that poop usually can’t talk…
Speed Checked by Radar
Speed Checked by Radar
Thought up: 4.23.02 – 1:36am
Written: 4.27.02 – 9:27am
#5
I’m gonna take some time to analyze the sign we see on the roads ALL over every state: “Speed Checked by Radar.” As opposed to…? How else would you track the speed of a car? What kind of idiot decided to make this sign? What a splendid way to waste money in state government! I’ve thought of a couple of other ways to combat this “Speed Checked by Radar” (SCBR) dilemma. I propose, for the sake of taking down all those signs across the nation, to have speed checked by other means.
Option 1: There could be like 326 or 471 frozen goat heads randomly placed in the middle of highways and interstates. These heads will be set on 3-foot tall glass shafts. The SCBR signs will be replaced by Speed Checked by Flying Goatheads (SCBFG) signs. When the car runs into this goat head, (these goat heads will be very well camouflaged to dissuade people from missing them on purpose) it gets whacked a certain distance. And that’s where the state workers come in. State workers will be placed at 300-foot intervals along every major highway and interstate where the goat heads on glass shafts are erected. (Don’t worry, they don’t have REAL work to do anyway, might as well have them do something useful.) So when the goat head gets hit, a state worker will run out and see how far the goat head flew thus calculating the speed the driver must have been driving to hit it that far. Anyway, put like a good 357+ of them around various locales where these goat signs reside. When a perpetrator flies by the sign and thinks to himself/herself,
Himself/Herself: “Gee Self, my speed is being checked by radar. Should I slow down? (2 second pause to think about it.) Hell no! Radars only live on police cars, and there are no police cars within sight, so that sign is a waste of everyone’s money! Boy, I’m sure showing those radar-sign-making people a thing or two.”
And before they know it, WHAM, a goat head is splatted onto their car. And then I bet they’ll be the ones feeling sheepish… Get it, sheepish – wink, wink, nudge nudge.
Option 2: This might make animal activists a little angrier, but it would provide a different means of checking speeds on major roadways. We’re going to need a snail, a turtle, a boa constrictor, a mouse, a duck, a 3-legged cat, a dog that just got spun around like 15 or 16 times, an elephant, and a cheetah (might be hard to get a cheetah, so maybe a track with a toy train on it that can go 80 mph. I could make a suit that looks like a cheetah, or I guess a person could just ride the train with my cheetah costume I wore for Halloween).
Anyway, we’d line these animals up at random locations along the highway and as a car would shoot by, a race would begin. The animals would start running when the car passes them, and they’d race for 100 yards. Wherever this car finishes in the 100-yard race in comparison to the animals would give a relatively close estimate as to the speed of the car. True, the animals may become tired, but it’s all for the sake of sign preservation. And besides, who wouldn’t want to be driving along a highway, and look out their window and see a boa constrictor racing against them…
Are We There Yet?
Are We There Yet?
Thought up: 4.29.02 – 11:41am
Written: 4.30.02 – 1:27pm
#6
When I was young my family used to go on vacations. We didn’t have a lot of money, so our vacations would usually include one or more of the following:
1.) Sleeping in the car as opposed to a hotel or campground.
2.) Not really going anywhere, but more just driving around for 2 days, and stopping at rest areas and monuments and such.
3.) “Vacationing” to gramma’s house.
4.) Eating the 45 Shasta-smashed-bologna sandwiches packed in a hand me down green cooler in the trunk of our beautiful, spacious, stealthy 1989 LTD Crown Victoria. (By “stealthy” I mean stealthy like a hippopotamus on fire.)
5.) Me getting beat up by my parents for beating up my sister because I couldn’t beat up my brother, who had just beaten me up… yea, I got beat up a lot. It was a lose-lose situation, but I guess I never quite figured that one out.
When you’re a kid, you always want to be able to know where you are, when you’re getting to where you’re going, and when you could just stop and get out of the car. Well, for years, as every kid does, we’d ask, “Are we there yet?” And for years, my dad would always use the reply,
“Almost, just a few more miles.”
Isn’t that what he’s supposed to say? That’s what they always say, but we’d always just come back 5 minutes later,
“Are we there yet?”
Until apparently one day my old man got to thinking about it, he was ready for us to ask the inevitable question.
“Are we there yet?”
He looked back in that rearview mirror, raised up one eyebrow, smiled to show all of his off-white teeth, (kinda like that Grinch, when he finally realizes he could steal Christmas away from all the Whos in Whoville, and he starts to rub his hands in a circle, like when one dries their hands under one of those automatic dryers in McDonalds…) and said, much to our disbelief,
”Yup. We’re just looking for a parking place.”
Uhhhhh, what does a kid say to that? Because technically we ARE there, because he said so. And in our family, for all we knew, the vacation COULD lead to this very location on the highway. So for at least the next 3 or 4 trips, we had no clue how to respond to that one. We’d just gaze out the window and look for something that we might stop at, never really knowing where we’d stop. Boy, kids sure are dumb. I hope I never become one…
The Cattle Guard
Thought up: 3.24.02 – 6:24pm
Written: 3.24.02 – 11:45 pm
So yesterday I was driving along in between White Sulphur and Harlowton, Montana, and I saw this cow standing OUTSIDE one of the many cattle guards, and I got to thinking, “did she just JUMP over that cattle guard to get to that green grass on the other side?” Cause many times that is the greener stuff. And if she did, why didn’t she teach all those other stupid cows that are still eating all that grass on the regular side that they poop in all day to jump it?
Or maybe she’s the Michael Jordan of cows or some such, and maybe I should call up the owner of this cow and tell him that maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea to butcher this cow. She has some real talent, but she probably wouldn’t perform in front of people, just like trick animals never do, like that cartoon I remember when I was little where a man found a singing frog, but the frog would only sing when nobody was watching, and the man spent his life savings on this frog to promote him, and all the frog did in front of people was croak.
Boy, I bet he felt sheepish in front of people, and that’s not what I’d want the cow owner to feel, so maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to tell the cow owner about his magnificent cow. Perhaps though the cow owner would appreciate me scaring the cow back over to the other side of the inept cattle guard, but then I got to thinking again, “What if that cow got her leg stuck in the guard THIS time? And the cow’s leg got injured really badly, and the man had to kill the cow anyway. Boy, Mr. Badluck would be getting 2 birds with one stone cause not only would he be getting rid of that Michael Jordan cow, but Badluck would also have it that I’d have to pay the man cause I tried to save his splendid cow.
Quite frankly, I didn’t think it was worth it, but for that 30 seconds, I really thought hard about it. Good thing I talked some sense into myself. Stupid cattle guards…
A Bit About Your Authors (And How We Came To Be)
We’ve had hundreds (if not hundreds of billions) of requests coming in over the past few months curious as to what and who we were. We’ve got such compelling information on the site that people wanted to know who to praise in their nightly prayers. So here’s a bit about us…
We were born as small black children (like Johnson, Navin R.) in remote villages around the world. Through the technology of tin-cans and really long strings we learned to communicate with each other to discuss world issues. Wars, politicians, sports, and cream-sicle flavors soon got to be tiresome for us so we decided to each start HUGE multi-million dollar corporations. The money was good, but it was kinda lame and not very challenging.
So we began laundering money through them to fund our offshore hot-air balloon company that would transport monkeys to their favorite tropical locales.
This endeavor appeared to be our first downfall. We hadn’t used the power of foresight to realize that monkey’s rarely pay up on their debts and this ultimately led us to bankrupt each and every one of us by the age of 3.
Then, in the 1840’s we became cowboys and headed out west to California for the gold rush to remake our fortune. We had a wild invention to get there which we thought would put us on top of the world, but the Porcu-shoe (half porcupine/half shoe) didn’t take off as we’d thought it would and we ended up thumbing it out there, but we made it, so that was braggable.
Yea, that’s me in the middle there – I was packing on some weight after the frost of ’68.
During our stay in California, we agreed it was a good time to start blogging, but ran into issues creating the fiber-runs, data centers, internet, and some other nominal issues which we agreed wasn’t worth looting our gold mine money for. So we figured we’d put that on the back burner (little did we know Al Gore would undermine us later in life, more on this later) until we really started wrap our heads around this “sheep-skin condom” epidemic that was sweeping the western US at the time. We saw big money there.
From this brilliant revelation we started trading all our gold for sheep intestines. I know, smart, right? Yea, that’s what we thought, but as it turns out that was a bad idea since they just invented those crappy “ice block refrigerators” that you had to get new ice for to keep anything cold. Yea, combine that, living in SoCal at the time, and the fact that we spent all our gold money on sheep intestines, and all you’re left with is nasty-rotted-out-maggot-ridden-sheep guts.
So again we were on our own, and we were sent to… [exciting music]
To be continued…
Tags: our story
Link-O-Rama
Mr. Fro’s top 5 links of the week.
4. Check out the third review for this wonderful children’s item, that is pretty darn funny. (H/T to The Dish for the link)
3. Andy, I have found the perfect job for you. Applications are due in less than a month, so get that resume ready.
2. Love this story. I would say that my wife has the same skills, but I better bite my tongue in-case she were to read this post.
1. The 1st Annual Buttertub Awards. Don’t forget to submit your stories.
Mitch Hedberg Was Pretty Comical…
* I got an ant farm… them fellas didn’t grow shit!
* I went to a doctor, all he did was suck blood from my neck. Don’t go see Dr. Acula.
* I had a Mr. Pibb, Mr. Pibb is a replica of Dr. Pepper… but it’s the bullshit replica, cause dude didn’t even get his degree.
* One time a guy handed me a picture and said “Here’s a picture of me when I was younger.” Every picture is of you when you were younger! “Here’s a picture of me when I’m older.” You son of a bitch, how’d you pull that off? Let me see that camera.More…
* I’d like to see a forklift lift a crate of forks… it’d be so damn literal! You are using that machine to its exact purpose!
* Last week I helped my friend stay put. It’s a lot easier than helping someone move. I just went over to his house and made sure that he did not start to load shit into a truck. More »
Quality Writing
Andy you need to sign this kid up to write for the Buttertub. He has mad skills.
(Click to enlarge)
My Wife May Be Cheating On Me. What Do I Do?
I’ve never talked about this before, but I really need the boards advice on what could be a crucial decision. I’ve suspected for some time now that my wife has been cheating on me.
The usual signs… Phone rings but if I answer, the caller hangs up.
My wife has been going out with the girls a lot recently although when I ask their names she always says, “Just some friends from work, you don’t know them.”
I always stay awake to look out for her taxi coming home, but she always walks down the drive. Although I can hear a car driving off, as if she has gotten out of the car round the corner. Why? Maybe she wasn’t in a taxi?
I once picked her cell phone up just to see what time it was and she went berserk and screamed that I should never touch her phone again and why was I checking up on her.
Anyway, I have never approached the subject with my wife I think deep down I just didn’t want to know the truth, but last night she went out again and I decided to really check on her.
I decided I was going to park my motorcycle next to the garage and then hide behind it so I could get a good view of the whole street when she came home. It was at that moment, crouching behind my bike , that I noticed that the valve covers on my engine seemed to be leaking a little oil.
Is this something I can fix myself or should I take it back to the dealer?
